


bow, bend, break

by Clockenstein



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-03-07 20:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18880237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clockenstein/pseuds/Clockenstein
Summary: "If you discard those who care for you to walk the path of solitary combat, nothing awaits you but darkness."





	bow, bend, break

**Author's Note:**

> For the Golonzo Hub ([@GolonzoH](https://twitter.com/GolonzoH) on Twitter) weekly challenge #5: the dark side of characters. 
> 
> Quote above is from A Thousand Reasons. It's the last thing Six says before he beats the shit out of Ayer for real.

_"We haaave a winneeer!"_

 

* * *

 

Ayer dreams.

_"...on equal footing!"_

Ayer must be dreaming. There is no other explanation for the voices that echo in his head.

_"...could even say that Ayer has the edge."_

  _(—stop holding back—)_

A dream: an insight into yourself, into the subconscious desire, so his books say. An echo of memory—

_"You're trying to say you could beat me without breaking a sweat?"_

_—_ and his memory echoes.

Ayer is dreaming.

_"And you?"_

_Of course I'm not holding back,_ he thinks now, he thought the same thing back then, _who the fuck do you think you are—_

A punch sails for his shoulder. He dodges but he's shaken now, _this isn't what I remember—_

_"What has you so flustered?"_

Another punch. Ayer dodges. _He talked more. He hit less._

_He was holding back._

_"What are you afraid of?"_

A jab. Faster. He dodges, but it's close _—_

_"Can you even see me clearly?"_

A flurry.

He dodges one, sidesteps another, lurches back from a third, he can feel the arena wall behind him, _how did I lose this much ground_ , the fourth one connects, straight on his cheek, lands like the fist of an angry primal _._

Ayer flies backward into the wall, his back screaming pain, screams it red-hot as the Erune draws back into a stance, watching him pick himself up off the ground.

_"What do you know."_

He's on the attack now. He throws his entire body forward _—_ he remembers this feeling, brutes swinging themselves at him in _that_ place, forcing him back _—_ and he begins to drive. The ground evens back, they're in the center of the arena again, but something's wrong _—_ he hasn't landed a single hit. The Erune is no gladiator, no beast of war, no hulk of mass. He dodges with air, light and nimble, Ayer sees him move and knows he's not even close, he's being _played with—_

_"Enough."_

The word is said just as Ayer misses another hook, and this time the blow comes to his right, pushes him backward. Now there's pain seeping through his shoulder too, but he ignores it, shifts into a stance, until he catches that twinge. Like a a man with his life flashing before his eyes as he dies, any true fighter knows it _—_ knows the moment when the fight is lost.

And Ayer can see the glint behind the Erune's mask.

_"Like you, I'm here for a reason. Let's end this."_

A lunge.

 

* * *

 

Ayer scrambles, hands pushing him backwards until _thump—_

"Ow! What the f _—_ "

 _The fuck_ is right. But the jolt has him awake now. He sits up in his bed. It's still dark. He can hear himself breathing, just a bit faster than normal, but other than that it's quiet.

A dream. Right. Of course. He scratches at his nape, reaches down to his back. No bruises. Okay.

Fuck.

"Jeez," he says. "Whatever. I'm over it."

He lies back down on his side facing the window and falls asleep again.

 

* * *

 

Another dream.

"It doesn't hurt, does it?"

As far as Ayer can tell, he's lying on his side. Whatever he's on is sinking slightly  _—_ a bed  _—_ and whoever is talking is behind him. In front  _—_ the window; outside, the sunset accentuates the golden sheen of castle walls.

He must be in Albion. 

"I'm fine, sis."

What's with the lucidity of all this, he wonders. There's pain still dully aching in his shoulder blade where the Erune caught him, but either way, he hates when Jessica fusses over him. So.

"Well, don't push it, anyway."

_Oh, shut up._

"I said I'm  _fine._ "

She pauses for a second before answering. "If you say so. Anyway, Ayer, there's something here for you _—"_

"The quarterfinalists' prize again? I told them I didn't want it."

"But they _—_ " 

"You know I hate participation medals," he snarls. "They're some bad joke you're supposed to laugh with. Not at." 

"But don't you _—_ "

"You can give the prize money to the captain for me if you want. I don't care about—"

"Ayer!"

He doesn't jump. Well, all of it really happened, anyway. He's just not sure why all of it is playing back to him right now.

"I think it's  _nice_ that they went out of their way to have a prize pool."

"And I think it's stupid." 

"The organizers cared enough to think about it, Ayer." 

"Which is exactly why it's a bad joke, sis. Who cares about losers?" 

He catches the gasp out of Jessica's mouth. Losers.  _Losers._ It was the curl in his voice that did it. 

She thinks, longer this time, and then.

"I watched your match, you know." 

"What about it."

"You could have won." 

 

* * *

 

_(As Ayer remembers it—)_

 

"Like that's going to make me feel any better." 

Jessica sighs. "No, really. The announcer even said it, remember? "

"Doesn't ring a bell."

She does her worst best impression.  _"Perhaps we could even say that Ayer has the edge!?"_

It's such a stupid thing. Good thing he's not facing her, to catch him suppress a snicker. 

"Whatever."

 

* * *

 

( _I'm over it, he repeats to himself.)_

 

"Like that's going to make me feel any better."

_(Why am I having this dream?)_

"No, really."

_(I said I'm over it.)_

"You wouldn't know," he catches himself saying. 

_(I'm tired of this dream. Shut up.)_

"I  _do_ , Ayer," she says. "You should give yourself more credit."

_(Shut up, shut up, shut up—)_

"Easy to say when you weren't the one down there."

_(Why won't you shut up—)_

"Whatever he said to you in the ring," Jessica offers, "If you hadn't lost your cool, then maybe—"

_(I've had enough.)_

Ayer stops thinking, and his body does the rest. He's lying down one second and — it must be the dreamscape — he's holding her up by the neck the next. His arm is lean, but the grasp is firm — Jessica is reaching for air, not getting it, her hands trying to prise his off, but—

"A..yer..." 

Her breathing gets shorter. More rapid. An arm falls to her side. Another. Her legs stop kicking in the air where he's holding her. 

 _(—shut up shut up shut up—)_  

She's gone now, but his grip is tightening, not slackening, the noise in his head getting worse and not better. 

( _—_ _see clearly shut up so flustered shut up afraid shut up not enough shut up want to be shut up stronger —)_

"If you discard those who care for you," a voice recites, from behind, "to walk the path of solitary combat—"

(—shut—)

Ayer's blood turns to ice.

(—up—)

"—nothing awaits you but darkness."

He turns, but his grip is already slack (the dream Jessica crumples to the floor with a thud), and does he really need to look to know who it is?

"That's what the kid said, wasn't it?"

As he says it, Bowman smiles.

 

* * *

 

_(Bowman smiles, until—)_

 

Ayer jolts out of bed, and his head meets a bookshelf on the way up.

"Motherf—"

His breath catches up to him then, and then bottles in his throat.

"Fucker," he exhales.

Morning now, not dark. But he can hear himself breathing a bit faster than the night before, and blood pumping through his chest.

Just to be sure, he looks down at his hands, curls his fingers.

He still feels like Ayer.

And yet.

 

* * *

 

_(I'm over it, he continues to say— until he can almost believe it.)_

 

Ayer wanders down into the subgalley that night, asking Ladiva if she knows where the training dummy is. She directs him to an alcove in the corner of the bar where the dummy is kept, and so he goes.

_("Excuse me," he hears from the other side of the bar.)_

One, two, punch. The dummy whirls in place.

_("My, Jessica!" Ladiva says. "Are you looking for Ayer? He's over by the lignoid...")_

_Ignore her._ Three, four, a kick for good measure. The dummy wobbles backward.

_("Oh, thank you!')_

Footfalls.

Then, "Ayer?"

It takes all of his self-control to ignore her, except at that moment he feels a twinge—

_If you discard those who care for you—_

—almost like bloodlust.

_—nothing awaits you but darkness._

It takes all of his self-control not to ignore her.

"I'm _fine,_ sis."

And for once, Jessica believes him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to finish this earlier but Unite & Fight's a bitch. On the flip side, the new event helped to polish the ending a little bit.
> 
> I don't even know anymore. Spent too much time on this just to end up with something a bit messier and more stream-of-consciousness than is usually healthy for me. Let me know if it doesn't work. 
> 
> Post-5★ thoughts: I should have figured I wasn't the only one with the brilliant idea of re-referencing A Thousand Reasons. None of what happened in the fate episode really changes anything I wrote here, so I guess thanks KMR for handing my best boy his uncap.
> 
> You can catch me on twitter at [@raid_echo_on](https://twitter.com/raid_echo_on).


End file.
